


sick of nothing

by peachyteabuck



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/F, Light Angst, One Night Stands, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 21:46:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18949282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck
Summary: Shitty, shitty bars can still have pretty, pretty bartenders.Carol’s got a night off and you work as a bartender while you study to become a statistician. A one-night stand situation.





	sick of nothing

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for @shay-iamiam ‘s 800 follower writing challenge. my prompt was “i have a name, and it’s not sweetheart” and has been bolded within the fic !!
> 
> this is my 1st carol danvers fic lol. idk why it took me so loooong

The walk is about three and a half blocks, the hood of her _AIR FORCE_ hoodie pulled up the whole time as if to dare any pick pocket and low life in the city to test her self-defense abilities. Nobody she passes looks at her for more than half a second, just how she wants it.

In front of her destination is a neon sign that’s nearly dulled - as if too old to support its own brightness anymore. It’s almost hidden among the other, flashier billboards and car lights and God knows what else the civilians in this town use to be seen these days. Regardless, it catches Carol’s eye.

The stairs to the entrance are lit by a green similar to the color outside, the deep shade barely masking the multiple women making out against the wall. Carol makes eye contact with one of them who’s got two attached to each side of her neck. The unnamed woman smirks at Carol, who nods back.

When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, the heavy door she has to use all her might to push in order to get through the threshold. There aren’t a lot of people in the run-down bar, it’s much too early for the regulars to be partying. She counts maybe six people, max, along with the three exits.  

Carol spots you across the bar. Across the dirty, grimy bar she flags you down and orders scotch. She doesn’t know exactly what it is, but it was what her papa drank when he was lonely, so it’s what she’ll drink now.

Your pour the dark liquid into a glass with fluid movements, and you push it down the bar to her with equal ease.

“Enjoy,” you tell her, and she nods once before downing it. She watches you intently, tracks your wide grin and fast hands.

You notice her staring but don’t say anything, too busy stuffing your bra with the single dollar bills and wiping down the wettened wood as each patron becomes drunk enough to leave. It’s near the end of your shift, when you’ve got ten minutes left and the next girl comes to pull back her hair and change into her own t-shirt printed with the bar’s logo, that you finally make contact.

“It’s kinda rude to stare,” you tell her without meeting her eyes.

“Oh, but you’re so nice to look at,” the woman, with her shockingly neat blank olive long-sleeved shirt. She’s got blonde hair pulled back tight into a bun at the top of her neck, posture that rivals that of a Renaissance-era French noble.

_Military_. You note. Most of them don’t bother with the bar you have the misfortune of working at, especially with it being as seedy as it is; filled with degenerates as it is. There are better places to drink, better places to pick up hookers, better places to forget the fact they joined was just to pay for college.

The woman speaks again when you lean against the bar – the first time your feet stopped moving since your shift started. “When are you done here, sweetheart?”

You smile, the shine in your eyes especially evident in the low light. ** _“I have a name, and it’s not sweetheart,”_** you tell her with a voice playful and light.

“And what is this mysterious name of yours?” she downs the last of her drink as she waits for your reply.

There’s a hesitancy in your voice, an uncertainty that isn’t scared but most definitely is noticeable. “Why don’t you take me on a date and find out?” Another pause. “I’m done here in five. You can meet me out back if you want.”

Carol smiles wide and dope, and tips you a crisp twenty-dollar bill, which she places over the wet ring her empty glass left on the dark, stained wood. “See ya then, _darling,_ ” just as she tucks her stool back out of the path of travel for the other customers, she turns back around. “My name’s Carol, by the way.”

As you tap out and grab your bag from the back room, you can’t tell which weighs heavier on your conscience: the biggest tip you’ve ever received (in proportion to the tab) or the fact that you’re about to have sex with a stranger.

Said woman is right where you told you to be, leaning against the brick wall with her hands stuffed in her pockets. Silently, you nod, and she follows you on the route to your apartment. For awhile it’s silent, almost uncomfortably so.

About halfway through the walk, Carol’s the first one to speak. “What are you doing here? In this shitty town?” A pause. “You seem way too smart to be stuck here.”

You shrug your bag closer to you, as if it’ll protect her from whatever hypercritical commentary she’s about to give. “I’m studying to be a statistician, working on saving money so I can start working on my PhD soon.”

Carol laughs a little, and for a moment you prepare to recite the speech you gave your dad when you left home four years ago, your freshman year professor who told you that _women can’t do math, it’ll interfere with their natural role as caregivers to the family,_ your sophomore year boyfriend who you broke up with not only because you figured out you only like women, but also because he was a piece of shit who told you that if a woman wasn’t a stay at home mom she wasn’t worth shit.

But Carol doesn’t mock you, doesn’t chuckle like it’s the strangest thing she’s ever heard.

Still, you’re concerned. “What’re you laughing about?”

“Just never expected anyone so smart would allow someone like me to take them home,” she tells you, honest and sincere. For a moment her cool façade breaks and your heart along with it, but after a few seconds she’s back with that killer smile.

Your conversation remains light the rest of the walk, at one point your fingers intertwining as the silence of the night settles upon you. The action is cute, innocent, directly contrasting what happened the second you reach the inside of your apartment.

Carol’s got you pushed against the inside of your bedroom door, and you can feel each groove and nick in the old wood as she pulls off the horrendous black shirt your boss requires you to wear. The day it was handed to you, you promised yourself you’d burn it the minute you didn’t have to work at that shithole anymore. But, as Carol kisses your collar bone and bites at each square inch of sensitive skin, you wonder how bad it could be if you managed to catch her while wearing it. On impulse your nose wrinkles, thinking about the putrid scent wafting from the fabric, the piss of a thousand racoons settling over the hottest woman you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Luckily, Carol doesn’t notice, because she’s too busy pulling it off of you and catching a glimpse of the tattoos that litter your body. Her lips stop, then, and she takes a moment to look – _really look_ – at them. She traces the normal model – located on your ribs – lightly. “Is that the mathy shit you were talking about?”

You laugh, pulling her in for a kiss. “These are equations that can determine things you only _dream_ of knowing. You know, in World War I-“ You’re cut off with a sharp _bite_ to your breast opposite the ink and one of her hands snaking itself down your pants. “Oh _fuck_.”

Carol smiles into your skin before throwing you onto the bed, her hair barely moving as she tosses you as if you were pillow rather than a person. You hit the bed with a loud _thump_ , and in the second you take to move your thick blankets that have gathered over you off of your body she’s removed her shirt and is working on unhooking her simple, sweat-stained bra.

Her movements are fevered, her eyes ablaze. It’s the kind of fire you’ve seen in the climax of cheesy animated movies, when the pretty, hopeless protagonist is cornered against some thick free as the big, bad wolf towers over her as spit falls from its jowls. With wide eyes, the careless woman watches and whimpers as what is likely her death-bringer rips the top of her bodice open with a simple swipe of its dirt-coated claws.

The only difference between you and her appears to be her terror, because as Carol crawls over you and sinks her teeth into your jugular all you can do is moan and grab at her back.

“You’re so cute,” she growls into your ear. “Maybe I should fuck you like I’ll break you…” An evil, hungry grin spreads across her face as you shake your head, your nails dragging angry red lines down her muscular back.  “Or, maybe not.”

As she removes her thick, black pants, you notice she’s wearing a worn leather harness she claims she’s had since she first enlisted fit tight to her waist and thighs. The material is soft as your palms occasionally run over the buckles as you reach for her ass. “Please, Carol, please _god_ ,” you beg, gasping at she bites at your nipple. “Please just fuck me.”

Carol moves on down your stomach, leaving a trail of bruises in her wake. You can feel her lips spread into a smile into your skin, nipping at your heated flesh as she looks up at you. “ _Mm_ , kinda wanna have you ride me instead. You okay with that, baby girl?”

You’re breathless as you respond. “ _Yes_.”

Somehow, in all of your breathless splendor, Carol finds a way you coax you – no, _manhandle_ you so that you’re hovering just above the bright blue cock kept in place by the harness.

“I don’t think that’s military-issue,” you quip. The smirk on your face, though, subsides quickly when she aligns herself with your entrance and bottoms out in a single thrust. All you can do is moan, bracing yourself with one hand on the wall and one on her chest. It’s embarrassing, almost, how _good_ it feels.

The ends of Carol’s mouth slowly spread upward as she watches you fall apart, watches your eyes roll to the back of your head, watches your jaw go slack.

“You like that?” she asks, voice thick with the arousal that comes with pleasing a partner. “You like it when I fuck your pussy this hard?”

All you can do is give her a small squeak and a nod, unable to form such a complicated thing as speech. Carol’s got one hand on your hip to keep you moving, to keep your hips grinding on her cock, while the other rests on your throat with her thumb moving just past your lips.

It doesn’t take any exchange of words for you to understand what she wants from you, and as you take the ridge between the two phalanges you flatten your tongue against the digit.

You soak the calloused skin with your spit, tracing every small detail with your tongue and basking in the glow of giving and receiving pleasure. Soon, though, Carol pulls her thumb away with a loud _pop!_

You pout, worrying you had done something wrong. But as you feel Carol circling your clit you forget all about your own insecurities.

“Oh _fuck,”_ you whine, almost falling if it weren’t for Carol’s painful grip on your hip. “Oh my God!”

“You gonna come for me baby?” She hisses, voice husky and laced with godly confidence. “You gonna come on daddy’s cock?”

Her saying that word, that _title_ , sends another flood of arousal to your center. “Yes, daddy, I love your cock,” you moan, desperate throw yourself into the pleasure you’re _so close_ to reaching. “Please, _please_ let me come! I wanna come on your thick dick, daddy!”

Carol doesn’t say anything at first, caught stroking her ego with a cocky smirk that somehow makes you even wetter.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” Carol nearly purrs. “Come for Daddy.”

She’s got one thumb rubbing at your clit, the other hand palming at your breast. Soon it’s too much, the tight, heated coil in your abdomen gives one last tightening before it unravels – pleasure flooding your blood. As the explosive pleasure begins to subside, Carol carefully flips you onto your back and pulls out of your hypersensitive pussy. As she pulls the toy out of you achingly slow you whimper from sensitivity and the empty feeling inside of you.

Carol moves off of the bed to pull the harness off of you, and in the absence of her body heat you shiver and whine for her to join you back in bed. She gives you a small, pitiful smile before leaning forward to a place a light kiss on your sweaty forehead. “Just give me a second, baby, you need some water.”  
You _mmph_ , and point her in the direction of your shitty kitchenette.

When she comes back you’re on the precipice of sleep – eyes heavy as she props you up to drink from of the cold tap water. As you empty the glass, she places it onto your bedside table and wraps herself around you – puling the heavy, sex-thick blankets over the two of you. With the warmth of the fabric and her skin, sleep soon claims your consciousness.

It feels like a mere few seconds later when your pupils begin to move behind your eyelids, sparked by something deep in your foolhardy dreams telling you that you feel someone stirring in your room. When your eyes finally crack open, you can see the woman who fucked you into another consciousness last night pulling on her clothes in the dark.

When you click on the lamp, her movements stop like a cockroach freezes under a flashlight. A long, heavy silence ensues.

Carol’s the one to break it. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

More silence.

“I’m sorry,” she says – voice small.

The corners of your lips turn up in a similar manner. “It’s okay.”

Another beat passes before the both of you move. Carol continues to dress, and you move to write your landline number and, after a bit of hesitation, your name and address.

The silence continues as she makes her way around your room and collects her things – namely the harness, which she tucks back under her pants, just as before. As she turns around to pull her pants over the leather strap, you move behind her to tuck the old receipt into a back pocket.

When Carol notices your hands on her ass she freezes, but soon welcomes the embrace as you whisper in her ear. “Just…don’t be a stranger, alright?”

She intertwines your fingers and kisses where her skin meets yours. “I’ll try.”

You sigh as Carol steps out of your apartment complex into the pink-covered city. Dawn is just bringing itself upon the horizon, as if the sun is trying to bide you more time together. There are a few moments where your eyes meet, and she gives you a small, sad smile.

“Goodbye,” she says quietly.

You nod, once. Wrapping your robe tighter around you to keep the chills tighter to keep the chills at bay, you wonder why it would be so cool in the thick of summer. As you turn back inside to get ready for class, you try not to think about how it might not be the cold that make you shake.

 

 

              


End file.
